He Turns Me On, But Doesn't Touch Me
by kreekey
Summary: "If John were a homosexual, I would've thought he would have made a pass at me in 20 years, wouldn't you?" - Paul McCartney disputing the claims that Lennon had homosexual affairs, 1988. ‖ Full-length summary inside.


_Full Summary:_ "If John were a homosexual, I would've thought he would have made a pass at me in 20 years, wouldn't you?" - Paul McCartney disputing the claims that Lennon had homosexual affairs, 1988.

Scenes and slices of life in which John desperately tried to hide himself when confronted with these ideas. The ideas that must never be known to his best friend, his life support, his rival, his brother, his partner. Because if John ever let Paul understand the sort of power he had over him, he'd lose everything that ever really mattered. That's his worst fear, and he goes to terrible lengths attempting to ensure it's never realized.

...But maybe, in the end, John can learn to let it go. Even if that means a life without the person who used to mean everything.

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A/N: Thank you for clicking! This was originally posted in AO3. Fair warnings: this is not a fix-it. I suppose you might categorize it as a character relationship dynamic study, maybe. Just a non-chronological series of important scenes in their intermingled lives that may contribute or give context to the planned final chapter. I'll be honest, I can't guarantee a happy ending. But there may be a few glimpses of (bitter?) sweetness. Enjoy, and dive in.

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_"The truth is that John was really a great guy. Really, a nice fella. But, you get the sort of stress that the Beatles got… if you're not that stable… It's tough."_

* * *

John Lennon was standing in the middle of a room crowded with everyone he knew and then some. It was Paul's aunt's house, a pleasant place in the middle of suburban Liverpool (which almost sounds like a misnomer). Paul's family was there, too. It was McCartney's twenty-first birthday, after all. It was a strange intermingling of Paul's traditional family and his mates who were like, well, John. He felt as out of place as a drunkard in a convent, which was almost what he was, at the moment. John had a great deal to drink at the party and very little to eat.

He was on his umpteenth ale ever since Paul had left him to fend for himself. It's better to avoid the inevitable embarrassment of a drunk Lennon, especially when surrounded by conservative family. John felt sick, surrounded by gits who kept trying to make polite conversation. George had gone off somewhere with his bird and Ringo left soon afterward. He thought he saw Paul go into the back garden with the redhead and some other pathetic band and a rocker. John told himself that the fresh air was freezing and would only make him be sick, making a mess in front of everyone. He'd better stay here, staring at the wall alone and drinking the home dry. Cynthia was still around there somewhere, but that didn't do anything for him anymore.

He spotted Brian off in another room, mingling effortlessly with the gits. John couldn't help but like him anyway. Brian was the one who reassured the band of their talent and John of his worth. Eppy made things comfortable, even if John knew he was desperate to do something like toss him off. It was almost a love affair, but not quite.

Their time together in Barcelona was telling - that was the sort of thing that worried him. It was his first experience with a homosexual John was conscious was homosexual. John would never bother finding out how lonely and overworked Cyn was when he left only weeks after their son was born. Neither did he realize his mates whispering about them when he and Brian left. Paul once joked that John sucked Eppy off to get his name first in the song credits. That's a story one of John's mates in the pub told him, anyway. But he's been told much worse rumours about himself. The type that left John staring at the ceiling late at night. He left his family weeks after marriage to go on a trip with a queer because he was a bastard and he knew it.

John was staring at the house's pale, flowery wallpaper when Bob Wooler walked up to him with a smug smile on his face. He had helped John's little band to do something worthwhile, a rare sight so far in their careers. The Cavern made half the memories that pushed the band to keep ongoing. John offered a nod at the familiar face.

"How are you, Johnny?" Bob offered his hand and John immediately shook it. "I haven't seen you since before you went on that trip with Brian. How was Spain?"

"'s good to see you, Bob," John said.

"Already drunk as a poet, Lennon? Ay, I'd be too, if I had to show my face after going off with a queer." Bob gestured to Brian standing in a separate crowd, leaning back to get a good look at him. "How was he, John? Did you enjoy it, then?"

John furrowed his eyebrows. "I don't - " he muttered. "I don't know what you're talking about, Bob." He fiddled with the collar on his wrist and let out a scoff disguised as a chuckle.

Now Bob smirked. He tilted his head downwards and raised his eyebrows, trying to meet John's nervous eyes. "It's all over the papers now. Go 'ed, tell me. Did you like it?"

John sputtered and his mouth went dry.

Bob added, "I understand, mate. Brian's a good-looking fella. Go on, look at him." John turned to where Bob had pointed, and he was right. Brian was making someone smile, comforting them. He was glowing underneath the light so much so that John stared. That was a memory from Barcelona. Bob suddenly grabbed John's package and groped it roughly, laughing in his ear, "Does he really get you that fucking randy, John?"

Quickly, John's eyes panicked, not wanting to face Bob or Brian or, really, anybody. As his eyes darted around the room, he and Cynthia made accidental eye contact. Bob was pushed off, cruelly chuckling along the way. John's face grew hotter and he spat, "Don't touch me, you fuckin' divvy."

As Cyn walked towards them, John turned away. He shouldn't have to deal with this. Not here. He tried to find another bottle of drink or someone to talk to or a bird to fool around with. Mainly a bottle of drink, to be honest. Anything to escape this. Cyn started saying something to John about Julian and getting home. She was always trying to help him. It was obvious John needed it in his life. But John didn't hear her. He was busy desperately stealing someone's half-drunk pint and washing out everybody around him.

"Come on John, tell me." Bob stroked the back of John's back. His warmth radiated on the back of John's neck. Cyn watched on.

"Fuck off, Bob. I mean it."

"Tell me about you and Brian, we all know."

"I'm not a queer."

"John, please. Don't listen to him," Cynthia urged.

Bob snorted. "Come on, do you need your 'wife' to come in your defence, John?"

"Mr. Wooler, _no_ \- "

And that was his wife speaking now, trying to politely bicker with Bob to _leave John alone, he's so drunk, please._ Everything slipped out of John's grasp as Bob was trying to charm his wife away, soothing her and reassuring her with lies and jokes. John could swear she was almost in tears, and John wondered if Bob could tell or if Cyn could tell or if -

Then John looked up from his drink and somehow met eyes with Paul, who had made it inside now. He was watching them from across the room, against the purple petunias of the wallpaper. How long? How much could he hear from there? Could Paul see John's flushed face? Or white knuckles due to the tight hold on his drink as he was trying to ground himself wherever he could? Could Paul see John's shaky eyes, trying to forget the memories of Barcelona, at least in front of his mate? John felt he was wearing his shame and Paul was about to kick him out for disgusting everyone around him.

Paul's expression was unreadable, whether from the beer or the glasses John left at home. But he could tell Paul's eyes were wide, his lips parted, and his eyebrows were slightly raised. He reminded him of a boy who had caught mommy kissing Santa Claus - or a boy who'd caught a glimpse of Mummy living in sin with Bobby Dykins while Father was away. This was a glimpse of something he wasn't supposed to see. That he didn't _want_ to see or even realize. Something that disgusted him.

Paul was staring at John now - _really_ looking at him, reminded of all those Hamburg nights - and he didn't turn his gaze because John could swear Paul could tell what was happening. After all, Paul could always tell. Paul looked at him just like this after John said he was getting married. This happened after John drunkenly proposed to toss themselves off together in a dark room. Paul looked at John like this when he came back from Barcelona.

And now Paul was making his way towards him, his stare broken. Paul wasn't supposed to know this way. Paul was never supposed to know. So John turned around, knocked Bob Wooler to the ground, and jumped on him so that John could murder him and his shame.

Bob was screaming bloody murder as John grabbed a metal stick from the fireplace to shut him up. His nose turned to mush and his breathing made horrible sounds but John couldn't hear or feel or even notice it. He couldn't feel Cyn's hand on his shoulders or everyone evacuating the party or Bob's chest seeming to crush under his weight. He didn't let himself realize Paul screaming at him and trying to throw him off. John ignored the fact that _he was doing this in front of his best mate at his birthday party because he was a proper, vile bastard. He's a fucking bastard who's ruining everybody's life because he's a dirty -_

John cut himself off by slamming his fist across Bob's face. Got to shut him up. Got to stop it all. He couldn't tell that a bit of blood had stained the flowery wall of the McCartney's perfect house, or that a glass had smashed. He didn't realize that his vision was so skewed that he barely recognized that what he was hitting was human. He didn't listen to Bob crying, or the blonde crying, or even his own head telling himself that _I can kill this guy._ John kept on hitting, pushing through the gurgled moans of Bob and the fact John read on his face that _if I hit him once more, that was going to be it_. The heat of his face and his chest and the air burned up any thought that told him to stop. John did what he wanted to do for so long: to hit and stop them from speaking about these things ever fucking again.

And when it ended, John was barely aware it was over.

Cyn was driving him home, scared out of her mind. John lashed out again. John was still the same man. But they had a baby now and she left him for months after he hit her and John cried and apologized and promised to be a good man after every incident. Cynthia would always believe him. Now John was stirring in the back seat, his head bobbing weakly, not looking at her or even acknowledging her. He only muttered lowly, "He called me a bloody queer, so I knocked his ribs in."

He was only faintly aware of Bob's state. Something bad had happened to Bob's ribs and his eye, and John knew that _oh God, I did that to him_. He remembered that Bob staggered out, blood down his face, and said, "Get Brian Epstein." Everyone ushered to him and glared at the drunken attacker, the freak, the queer. John was pulled by some of the men there to Cynthia's car. And Paul rushed out of the scene, holding hands with the nice redhead. John saw Paul's figure pushing through the crowd, and for some reason, he wanted to find Paul's eyes for _something_ \- sympathy or hate or even a fucking nod - but Paul didn't look at John.

And John was pushed into Cynthia's car so he could get out of everybody's life and let them forget the awful night. The night that was _his_ fault. He was probably going to lose the record deal now, John thought half-consciously. At least, he should. Brian would drop the band and he'd be locked up like the fuck up he was. Oh, the band - they'd hate John for stringing them _this_ far along only to leave them with such a mess. Paul would forget about him or _want_ to forget about him. Everything they had, everything they worked for would be destroyed. John would be remembered as the fairy who ruined Paul's twenty-first and _Paul would hate him_. John's chest suddenly ached and his face contorted. Everything that was wrong with him was crashing down on his life because that's _exactly_ what he deserves. The last time Paul looked him in the eyes would be when Paul realized his best mate was a fucking queer.

* * *

_"... It's tough. Now, if you look at John for his stability, you've got to __look__ at him._

_"You gotta look at the guy whose father left home when he was three. He was brought up by his auntie and his uncle - his auntie was living but the uncle died._

_"And then, his mother - who used to live nearby - was visiting one night. She left, she got run over by a drunken policeman and got killed stone dead when he was sixteen._

_"So, y'know, on top of all of that it's remarkable he was as straight as he was, really."_

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A/N: Thanks for reading! Expect another chapter soon. Critique/reviews are always encouraged.

Research notes: The first chapter title is an actual quote from John regarding the Bob Wooler incident. Maybe its kind of lazy but I think it gives context (maybe). The quote in the summary is from Paul's 1988 interview on the NBC's "Today" show regarding Albert Goldman's claims that Lennon had homosexual affairs (in his book "The Lives of John Lennon". The dialogue framing the first chapter's story is almost verbatim from the same interview. Yep, even that very last line.


End file.
